


There in the Wilderness

by Evian_99



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Brother-Brother Relationship, Iceland, Kidnapping, Minor Injuries, More like a promise of Louis to fix it, Though not the focus of this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evian_99/pseuds/Evian_99
Summary: When Louis first awakes, it all seems like a huge drunken mistake. However, when the unconscious man in the chair close to him wakes, it seems not to be so easy. They both don’t know why or how they got here, but it must have been done by professionals. How else could they manage to take the king of France unseen from a five star hotel in Paris to a shabby hovel in the midst of Iceland’s wilderness?Or the one where it isn’t one of Louis’ drunken mistakes, but he needs to get himself out of trouble anyway.





	There in the Wilderness

**Author's Note:**

> Ásólfsskáli is a real place in Iceland, and is located close to the Eyjafjallajökull, the volcano no-one seemed to be able to pronounce when it disrupted the air traffic by erupting in april 2010.
> 
> Fjandinn is the Icelandic word for damn (according to Google Translate).

Bright rays of sun filtered through ripped curtains. One of them, a pale nasty one, shone directly on Louis’ face; waking him. Squinting, the king rolled over. His head was pounding, his throat painfully dry, and as the covers scratched at his skin he noticed he was as naked as he was on his naming day.

While the curtains were a happy affair of mismatched colours, with strips of cloth sewn together by crude stitches, the rest of the little cabin was rather sombre. The bed was made of iron poles with a springy mattress on top, and the tiny table at the broken window missed one of its legs. There was but one cupboard that was much empty next to a very old chair with a man lying unconscious in it.

However, the shrill ringing of a phone sounded before Louis could really start to contemplate what the man’s purpose here was. Or his own, for that matter. He rolled to the other side of the mattress, and swiped right to answer: ‘Hello?’

‘Louis! Finally I manage to reach you! Are you alright? What happened?’ His brother rambled. His tone bore both anger and worry. ‘Where are you? Marchal is going crazy. Half the French army has been mobilized to find you when you went mysteriously missing from the hotel.’

‘Philippe?’ His brain was slow to process the words, as if a fog caused them to get lost along the way. A shiver wracked his frame and the young monarch quickly huddled deeper under the scratchy covers. ‘What?’ He coughed, sneezing afterwards for bonus.

‘Please, brother, talk to me. Are you alright?’

All Louis’ unhelpful brain could supply was what a difference it was with yesterday, or what he believed to be yesterday, when they couldn’t look each other in the eyes. It was his fault then, as it often seemed to be lately, though this time he truly tried to better their relationship.

He coughed again; feeling more miserable than he had in a long time, and told Philippe so, though he did reach out to pull away the curtains. If only to answer his brother’s worried questions.

Some static disturbed the signal. For a moment he was afraid he would lose it all together, but it straightened itself after a second or two. ‘Your majesty,’ Philippe had clearly handed the phone over to his head of security, as the grumbling voice was unmistakably Marchal’s, ‘are you in immediate danger?’

‘I don’t think so, no.’ His voice sounded hoarse, and the talking only made his throat hurt more. ‘Though there is an unconscious man lying in a chair and I seem to have lost all my clothes.’ On its own, was him waking up without clothes not very special, however they always were somewhere on the floor, being haphazardly thrown away the night before. That they seemed to be missing from this cottage all together was strange, but everything about this affair was such. As Marchal hadn’t answered, Louis added: ‘I don’t like it here.’

‘Is there anything that you can use as a weapon, your majesty?’

Louis looked around. Beneath the broken window lay some shards of glass, but maybe there was a knife in one of the drawers beneath the cupboard. He clambered out of the bed, immediately reaching out to the wall to steady himself when a wave of lightheadedness caused him almost to faint. He stood shaking on his legs and with his vision going black, he dropped back down on the bed. ‘Some glass,’ he responded, ‘but I am in no state to leave on my own.’

When the blackness receded and he didn’t feel like fainting anymore, the king gingerly sat up. ‘It is better now, though I am not seeing how I will get back to civilization.’

‘Can you describe where you are? We are trying to trace the signal, but the size of the search area makes it time consuming.’ Marchal’s calm tone reassured him somewhat.

‘There are miles and miles of nothing. Just grass, little bushes and snow covering most of it. It doesn’t look like France.’ By now, Louis had slowly made his way from the bed to the drawers beneath the cupboard. He opened them but they were as empty as the planks of the cupboard. It was not unexpected, but still a disappointment. The glass would have to do.

With the glass in hand, Louis walked back to the bed and pulled the blanket around himself. It was freezing in the room, and with no clothes, it wouldn’t surprise him to get undercooled. By now, he could see the man in the chair slowly stirring. ‘What should I do, Marchal?’ he asked, ‘The man is waking up and I don’t have the clothes to survive for long outside.’

His head of security cursed. ‘Do you have something to defend yourself with?’

‘I have a sharp piece of glass.’ It felt like a flimsy weapon, but it was better than nothing.

‘That will have to do. Keep it hidden and be prepared to defend yourself with it. If he becomes violent, you have to do what you can to get away.’

‘I will just use my incredible charms to win him over.’ Louis laughed, but it sounded nervous and not very self-confident.

Marchal didn’t respond for a few seconds. Clearly he didn’t know what to say. ‘We have narrowed the searching area, your majesty. Within a few minutes we will know where you are and help will be send. Just don’t lay down the phone and trust that we will stop at nothing to save you.’

‘Okay’, he whispered, not knowing what else to say. To feel safer, Louis wrapped the blanket closer around himself. The glass shard he held so tightly that his own hand started bleeding, but thanks to adrenaline coursing through his body, he didn’t feel a thing.

The man was starting to finally rouse. He looked to be mid-forties, with crinkles from laughing around his eyes. His brown hair was already starting to thin and grey, but he wore warm clothes and sturdy boots.

‘Can you hear me, Sir?’ Louis asked. The man looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but looks could often deceive.

He mumbled something unintelligible before startling awake. ‘What?’

Louis didn’t say anything. He was trying to gouge whether he would be a threat.

The man now looked in confusion around himself. When he saw Louis huddled in the brown blanket, his frown deepened. ‘Who are you?’

That didn’t sound like something his kidnapper would say. ‘I am Louis’, the young king therefore said. If the man truly didn’t know who he was, it might be better to keep his identity a secret.

‘Have I met you before?’ He rubbed his head, winching.

He shook his head. ‘That’s highly unlikely. Do you know how you got here?’

‘I was hoping you would know.’

‘O.’ It was all Louis had to say. If the man wasn’t lying, and it didn’t seem that he was, they were both brought here by someone. ‘I don’t know how I got here either.’

That made him think.

‘What is your name?’ A simple question. One that could be answered.

‘Ivan Thormundsson,’ the man rumbled, ‘I am a tour guide from Reykjavik.’

‘Do you think we are in Iceland?’ Louis knew Marchal was listening to their conversation.

Ivan walked to the window. ‘It sure looks like typical Icelandic landscape to me.’ A silence fell. ‘You said you also woke here, and you probably have just like me no memory of what happened to you.’

‘I don’t. I was in Paris yesterday, or what I think must be yesterday.’

His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Paris? I knew your accent was French, but I assumed you were a tourist. Why would somebody kidnap you from Paris?’

Maybe this was as good a time as any to tell him who he really was, thought Louis. Then they could figure out a way to flee and get to safety. ‘My full title is Louis XIV, I am the king of France.’

‘ _ Fjandinn _ ,’ the man cursed, ‘Then why would they also kidnap me: an Icelandic tour guide?’

Louis shrugged. ‘There are a lot of unknowns. My head of security is trying to locate me, but I don’t think it’s smart to stay here.’

‘I suppose it isn’t,’ Ivan responded, ‘Although I don’t know where we are, I can try to find a way back to civilization with you.’

He smiled. ‘But first I have to find something to wear. I woke here without anything but this phone.’ Louis showed it to him.

‘Let try to find you something to wear then.’ Ivan immediately started to go through the cottage, even wrestling open a cellar to look inside. He went down the stairs, leaving Louis alone above, and came back up with very large, very outdated clothing. ‘It’s much too big for you, but it will do. I found boots too, but I don’t know if they will fit.’

‘Everything is better than nothing.’ Though Philippe will laugh himself silly when he sees this.

Screeching tires of a truck near with high speed. The two men freeze. With terror in their eyes they look at each other, both knowing that this must be their kidnapper.

Ivan moves first. The big man grabs Louis’ right arm and pulls him outside in the cold. Clothes still clutched in his arms.

Louis lets him and meekly follows. Being pulled away to safety is not an unfamiliar situation though it always was Marchal who was near him either barking orders or being the one doing the pulling. The glass shard is still clutched so tightly in his hand that the warm blood seeps down his fingers to create a trail.

The foliage doesn’t offer much cover, but there are steep ditches lying all over the place. When they reach a particular steep one, Ivan pushes Louis down. Then he himself drops to peek over the edge. ‘It seems he hasn’t seen us fleeing.’

Louis breathes out a sigh. ‘Good.’ He grabs the clothing and quickly starts dressing himself. His fingers are clumsy and his bleeding hand hurts, but he manages. The boots are surprisingly comfortable and although a bit big, stay on his feet. ‘Can you see what he is doing?’

‘Currently lifting a crate out of his jeep. He is walking inside, so will soon see that we are missing.’

‘Should we risk exposure and get a bit farther away?’ Louis looks down to the phone he dropped in his fall into the ditch, and sees to his dismay that the screen is absolutely shattered.

Ivan peeks out. A big man is lifting crates from the trunk to the house. When he enters, he comes back out again without the crates, but doesn’t look like he noticed his captives are missing. Walking back inside with another crate, he closes the door. The tour guide frowns. ‘He just went inside. But doesn’t seem to find us missing.’

‘So,’ Louis looks up, ‘What do we do?’

Another set of tires screech closer. When another jeep turns up, heavily armed men jump out. Ivan doesn’t hesitate. ‘We run!’

And run they did. Over the rolling grasslands, through thorny bushes, and sprinting over sharp rocks in shallow ditches. Gunshots were heard behind them, making Louis cringe, but Ivan just run faster. Only when they hear no more sound and they really need to stop to breath do they drop themselves in the waving grass.

Gasping for breath, Louis lifts his painful feet. He’d lost one of his boots while fleeing and kicked the other away in a jump. The little rocks had cut them bloody, but in the rush of adrenaline he hadn’t felt it.

Starting to giggle from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, the young king laughed: ‘What a mess.’

Ivan snorted. ‘Fitting.’ He was intently scanning the landscape, and smiled relieved: ‘I believe I recognize that mountain!’

Filled with new hope, Louis scrambles upwards. Enthusiastically he asks: ‘So, where are we?’

‘I would guess a good twenty miles from Ásólfsskáli.’

The name didn’t tell him much, and he said so, but Ivan just set off in the direction of the mountains in the distance. For a while it was slow going, Louis struggling to keep up, teeth chattering with cold. Only when Ivan took him on his back, did they start to make process; his small build working for the first time in his favour.

Night had fallen and was nearly ending by the time the two finally found a real road. No cars were seen nor heard, but the straight surface made his stumbling going a lot easier. They were both immensely tired now, and Ivan was certain that they’d still another mile to go, but their spirit had risen. Just the idea alone that help was underway—Ivan having used the last of the phone’s battery to relay their destination—was enough to give them a last burst of energy.

But that burst was declining. Louis started to stumble more often, and Ivan too got difficulties continuing. And when the sound of multiple racing cars neared them, they didn’t even dare consider hiding. At the end of their energy, the possibility of rescuing was just too tempting to waste.

Their haggard appearance was enough for the front one to step on his brakes. There were three cars, all bearing uniformed people inside, and it made Louis curious. When some exited, they asked something in Icelandic to them—making the Frenchman look to Ivan.

‘It’s police.’

His words were lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders. ‘Thank God.’ Slowly they made their way towards the people, one woman lending him support for walking. Quickly slipping into the middle one of the cars, Louis let a medic put a blanket around him and almost immediately slipped into a deep sleep.

And when he woke, he was lying in a perfectly comfortable bed with bandaged feet and hand. Blinking blearily, he suddenly found his arms full of a worried Philippe. Maybe there still was some hope of rescuing their relation, he thought. Pulling his brother closer, he relished for a few selfish seconds in that belief. He would make everything right again. That he vowed.


End file.
